


The Phantom of the Johnlock

by HornedQueenOfHell



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Code Words, Crossover, Fluff, Hypnotism, John is Christine, M/M, Partial Mind Control, Smut, There will be no John/Moriarty, all the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HornedQueenOfHell/pseuds/HornedQueenOfHell
Summary: By popular demand I was asked to write this crossover, please enjoy.





	1. Act I

Paris, 1919

~

“Lot 663 then, ladies and gentlemen. A poster for this house’s production of ‘Hannibal’ by Chalumeau.” The Woman read off and the large piece was displayed. Sherlock stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, not really caring about props and production pieces. But if he could find anything of His, that would satisfy him. “Do I have ten francs?” The older man tuned out the bidding but inclined his head when he saw the opera house’s previous owner was in attendance. 

Another piece was auctioned off while Sherlock studied the Woman herself, she had been lovely many years ago but time had left it’s mark on her. Her wit was as sharp as ever though and she winked at Sherlock when she saw him looking.

“Lot 665 ladies and gentleman...” Irene continued to speak but Sherlock’s gaze had zeroed in on the music box in the presenters hands. “May I commence at fifteen francs?” Mike Stamford a man Sherlock vaguely recalled put his number up.

“Fifteen, thank you.” Sherlock threw his up as well, god knows he’d heard about the box and it’s melody enough.

“Yes, twenty from you sir, thank you very much.” Mike went again, and then Sherlock. Irene asked if Mike wished to continue at thirty-five francs, the man glanced over at Sherlock and then shook his head no. The music box was his, a collector’s piece indeed he thinks brushing his fingers over the surface a few details missed but the piece had been well cared for and will likely play long past the day I am put in my own grave.

“Lot 666 then, a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained.” Sherlock and Mike shared another look, both looking pale and slightly sick, “We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it for the new electric light, perhaps we can...frighten away the ghost of so many years ago, with a little illumination. Gentlemen.” The old piece sparked as it lit up and was hauled off the ground. Mike looked like he might pass out seeing that thing dangling over his head again. Sherlock’s heart thudded in his throat, overwhelmed by memories of the last time he had seen that chandelier and what it represented. He could remember it as if it had been yesterday.

1870

The Opera Populaire was a grand affair with provocative nudes and grand velvet chairs, her dome ceiling was the envy of all as was her grand foyer which was the location for all the best parties. At the moment however it’s grandeur was being spoiled by the voice of Sally Donovan, the Opera’s leading soprano. John, Mike and many of the other minor players were standing off to the side joking and pretending to slit their own throats so they wouldn’t have to listen to her anymore.

“This trophy from our saviors, from our saviors! From the enslaving force of Rome!” The company stepped out and began to sing and dance, Sally throwing nasty looks at anyone who stood too close to her. A few members stepped on her dress just to watch her stumble, or they were drunk it was a fifty fifty chance. She barked that the train was too long. Monsieur Reyer sensed that his rehearsal was getting away from him and stopped the music, Monsieur Lefevre walked to center stage and turned to face everyone he had two men with him.

“Monsieur Lefevre! I am rehearsing!” The man put up his hands in apology and addressed the crowd,

“Monsieur Reyer, Madame Hudson, ladies and gentlemen, please. If I could have you attention, as you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can tell you now these are all true. It is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire: Monsieur Mycroft Holmes and Monsieur Gregory Lestrade.” There was some scattered applause, Lestrade seemed nice enough Mycroft clearly had a stick up his arse. 

“Monsieur Holmes holds a position in the French Government and Monsieur Lestrade was a cop.”

“Detective Inspector actually.” The man corrected. Mycroft stepped forward,

“I had hoped to introduce you to your new patron as well but seeing as he is late-”

“Hardly Mycroft, simply bored of these proceedings already.” A tall man stepped forward and John’s gasped softly, “My God, Sherlock.” He turned to Mike who was giving him a questioning look, “Before my parents died, at the house by the sea...We grew up together, I didn’t even recognize his brother.”

“Brother?” Before John could reply Sherlock spoke,

“My brother and I are deeply honored to support all the arts, especially the world renowned Opera Populaire.” John snorted, Mycroft had clearly forced Sherlock to say that. Monsieur Lefevre placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder which the man glared at before being brought face to face with Sally.

“May I introduce Signora Sally Donovan, our leading soprano for five seasons.” A highly effeminate cough sounded from just behind the woman. “And Signor Phillip Anderson.” He said waving the man forward, Sherlock studied them for a moment before turning to Anderson,

“Is your wife aware of the fact that you are sleeping with this screeching barn owl?” He asked indicating Sally. John had to stop himself from laughing out loud. The couple stood in silent rage and humiliation. “Now if no one has anything else for me I has some business to attend to. I am sure my brother will enjoy tonights performance.” And with that Sherlock turned on his heel and walked swiftly past John and the others, Sally had recovered from her shock and was cursing Sherlock’s name, Mycroft didn’t look to pleased.

“He wouldn’t recognize me.” John said answering Mike’s unasked question.

“He didn’t see you.” John snorted as they went out to get on with their part, the chorus had to dance in this play.

“Sherlock sees everything.” He muttered. Mrs. Hudson doted over and pushed Lestrade and Mycroft around as they observed the dance. John could faintly hear Lestrade admiring Molly, one of their prettier dancers as she spun around shackles in her hands. He could see Molly blushing and then realized Lestrade was now wearing her shackles like a scarf and looking very chuffed. Sally was getting angrier and angrier as the scene continued, the final straw came when her dress ripped, loudly. The music came to a close and she started yelling,

“All they want is dancing!” Monsieur Lefevre chose the wrong moment to rejoin the conversation as he piped in,

“Well I at least hope Sherlock, er the Vicomte, is attending tonight’s gala.” Sally rounded on him,

“If he is then I hope he is as excited by dancers as your new managers because I WILL NOT BE SINGING!” She began to storm off screaming at her attendants.

"What do we do?" Lestrade asked looking concerned.

"Grovel." Monsieur Lefevre replied, Mycroft just arched a brow and spoke in a low, calm tone.

"Why should we bother groveling before a diva when there are plenty of others who could fill her place."

"You think to replace me?" In an instant Sally was in Mycroft's face.

"Ma'am I could have ten replacements for you in the hour."

"How dar-"

"All better singers."

"I am the best, I can sing anything!" Mycroft laughed condescendingly,

"I doubt it." Sally looked like she might explode.

"Play the aria from act three." She demanded taking center stage, the other members looked at each other in confusion. That aria was for a man, and Mycroft Holmes seemed to be well aware of that fact.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we'd said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart ba-" Sally was cut off in the middle of her song as a backdrop fell on her. She threw a fit as several stagehands rushed forward to help. Mike turned to John terrified,

"He’s here, the phantom of the opera." Monsieur Lefevre rushed to help her up yelling for Joseph Buquet, the rigging man, who appeared moments later.

“Please, monsieur, don’t look at me!” He cried yanking on the pulley, “As God’s my judge, I wasn’t at my post. Please, monsieur, there’s no one there! Or if there is...well then, it must be a ghost!” The man chuckled, the ballerinas tittered in fear. Lestrade turned to Sally,

“Signora, these things do happen.” He said in an attempt to placate her. She rounded on him and if looks could kill poor Lestrade would be ash.

“For the past three years ‘these things do happen’,” She rounded on Lefevre, “And did you stop them from happening? No!” She turned to Mycroft now, “And you! You are as bad as them manipulating me into the aria like that, until you can get rid of this ghost good luck finding anyone to replace me!” Anderson chased after her, trying to calm her down.

“Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me I shall be in Australia.”

“Signora Donovan, she will be coming back, won’t she?” Greg asked Monsieur Reyer who just shrugged. Emma Hudson stepped forward a letter in her hands.

“You think so, Monsieur?” She smirked for a moment, then her face turned solemn again, “I have a message sir, from the Opera Ghost.” Mycroft rolled his eyes,

“Oh God in Heaven, you’re all obsessed.” Mrs. Hudson fixed him with another look before continuing,

“He welcomes you to his Opera House.”

“His opera house?” Greg said a little affronted, he moved closer to Mycroft who rested a hand briefly on Greg’s back before returning it to his umbrella.

“...and commands that you leave box 5 empty for his use. He says though that he no longer requires his salary, says he would not ask Sherlock Holmes for something so trivial.”

“His salary?” Mycroft arched a brow and took the letter from her, Greg read it over his shoulder.

“Sherlock?” He wondered taking the letter and reading it again. “Mycroft I don’t like this.”

“How much was the ‘ghost’ receiving?” Mycroft asked instead.

“Monsieur Lefevre used to give him 20,000 francs a month.”

“But is now not asking it of the Opera’s new patron.” Mycroft muttered to himself before turning to Mrs. Hudson again, “Please put up the notice that tonights show is cancelled.” In all the excitement everyone had forgotten about Sally’s flight from the opera house.

“Before we go there sir, would you like to hear how the aria is meant to sound?” Greg turned to Mycroft,

“Let’s at least hear it Myc.”

“Very well, Gregory.” They turned to Mrs. Hudson who smiled.

“John, come here dear.” John stepped forward and Mycroft arched a brow.

“John Watson, don’t be silly.” Well, it’s nice to be remembered John thought bitterly as he took the stage.

“He’s had lessons from a great teacher.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know his name Monsieur. He never told me.” John shrugged, Mrs. Hudson was beside him in an instant.

“Let him sing for you, Monsieur he has been well taught.”

“I have no objections.” Lestrade smiled encouragingly. They all got into their positions, Monsieur Reyer restarting the aria and Mycroft and Greg bickered quietly. They quieted when John began to sing though, even Mycroft was floored.

“Think of me, think of me fondly when we said goodbye. Remember me once in a while please promise me you’ll try.” Off to the side a pair of ice blue eyes study the figure on stage lips curling into a smirk, perhaps he would attend tonight's performance after all. “When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free. If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.” In the blink of an eye John found himself performing on a stage to a full house, he prayed he would not pass out. He was so distracted he did not notice a familiar face in a place he should not be. “We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea. But if you can still remember stop and think of me. Think of all the things we’ve shared and seen, don’t think about the way things might have been. Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we’ll never do...there will never be a day when I won’t think of you!” Far below the opera house another being listened appreciatively. 

Sherlock grinned from his seat in Box 5,

“Look at what you have made of yourself John Watson. Bravo.” Gathering his things Sherlock said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and snuck out of the opera house, couldn’t let his brother catch him enjoying himself. “It’s been so long, I doubt he remembers me.” The man said to himself as he hailed a carriage.

“Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade; they have their season so do we. But please promise me that sometimes, you will think,” final note don’t screw up, “of me!”

John received a standing ovation.


	2. Act II

John sat in the Opera House’s small chapel, looking over the candle he had lit there. A shiver ran down his spine and he smiles, he could faintly hear a familiar voice congratulating him,

“Brava, Brava, Bravissima.”

“John, John?” Mike asks climbing the stairs, looking for him. John hears his Angel echo before fading away entirely.

“Where in the world have you been hiding? Really you were perfect.” The man lays a hand on John’s shoulder smiling brightly at him, John is helpless and returns the gesture brightly. “I only wish I knew your secret, who is your great tutor?” John clasped his hands and spoke excitedly,

“Mike, when Mrs. Hudson brought me here to live, whenever I’d come down here alone to light a candle for my parents, a voice...from above, and in my dreams, he was always there.”

“John, do you believe? Do you think your parents sent someone to coach you?”

“Who else Mike, who?” John turns, almost wishing he could find his elusive angel in the shadows.

“Mother once spoke about angels, Father said if I dreamed they’d appear. Now as I sing I can sense them. And I know he’s here. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding. Somehow I know he’s always with me, he, the unseen genius.”

“Johnny you must have been dreaming.” Mike shook his head, “Stories like this can’t come true.” The man stood and turned to face him, “John, mate, you’re speaking in riddles, and it’s not like you.” Looking up at his friend John got to his feet and pulled Mike down the corridor with him.

“Angel of Music, Guide and Guardian, grant to me your glory.”

“Who is this angel, this-”

“Angel of Music” they sang at the same time.

“...hide no longer...”

“Secret and strange angel.” John spun wildly convinced he had seen his angel dart past them.

“He’s with me even now-”

“Your hands are cold!” Mike exclaimed, holding them tightly.

“All around me.” John continued not noticing until Mike pulled him around to face the other man,

“John your face, it’s white.”

“It frightens me.” John admitted.

“Don’t be frightened.” Mike said before leading John back to the foyer, quickly. Mrs. Hudson took him from Mike and pushed people out of the way and leading John to what had been Sally’s dressing room, his now that he had replaced her.

“No, no!” She replied to everyone who wanted something from her or John finally managing to close the door on everyone she crossed the room and sighed,

“You did very well my dear.” Mrs. Hudson said smiling and handing him a single red rose. “He is pleased with you.”

Sherlock stood in the hallway with Mycroft and Lestrade, the owners of the Opera using the crowded room as an excuse to be close to each other. As if they weren’t holding hands and gazing adoringly at one another already, Sherlock was ready to hurl.

“Who knew John Watson had it in him.” Mycroft finally said.

“Shall we present him to you formally so that you may court him?” Lestrade added with a small chuckle.

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind, piss off.” Sherlock snapped, he strode to the door pulling out the scarf John had bought him when they were kids. After hesitating only a moment he stepped into the room, John sat at the vanity looking seriously overwhelmed.

“Tell me John, just when did you overthrow your captain and begin having adventures all on your own?” John spun to stare at him.

“Sherlock.” Just hearing his name spoken so breathlessly made his toes curl.

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” Sherlock smirked.

“Our adventures in your backyard.”

“Playing with Redbeard.”

“Watching you play the violin.”

“As you documented our adventures, our travels to the Dark North.”

“But what I loved best, like I always said, is when I’m asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head...” Sherlock’s baritone curled with his and John smiled brightly,

“...the Angel of Music sings songs in my head...” Sherlock kissed his temple and pressed their foreheads together.

“You and your angels John.”

“My parents always said, “When we are in Heaven child, we will send the Angel of Music to you. They have been gone for time now Sherlock, and I have seen the Angel of Music.” Sherlock snorted lightly but still smiled at John,

“Come to dinner with me, it’s been so long.”

“Sherlock, I want to but the Angel-”

“It’ll be fun.” Sherlock said, he passed the scarf into John’s hands.

“Oh Sherlock.” The taller man was already at the door,

“For old times sake, I’ll order my carriage. Dress warmly.”

“Sherlock, wait!” But he was already gone, John lifted the blue scarf to his nose and inhaled the scent of his dearest friend. He couldn’t believe Sherlock kept it all these years. Glancing around the room John bit his lip before springing from his seat, dinner with Sherlock, it was too good to be true. Putting on his best clothes John tucked the scarf into his pocket and headed for the door, then all the candles went out.

“Insolent boy! This slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!” John swallowed at the possessive tone in that voice, he struggled to find his voice,

“Angel I hear you spe-eak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel my soul was weak... forgive me. Enter at last, Master.”

“Flattering child you shall know me,” the voice purred, “see why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror...I am there inside!” John stepped forward and came face to face with his Angel. He’d done it, he’d finally managed to meet his guardian in the flesh. He heart beat a thousand times per minute,

“Angel of Music, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange Angel.”

“I am your Angel of Music...come to the Angel of Music.” John was feeling light headed, ignorant to everything that was not the sparkling black eyes of his tutor, his Angel, his parents Angel. Sherlock tried the doorknob exasperated that John had not been outside waiting, his brow furrowed when he realized it was locked. Then he heard that voice,

“John, John who is in there? Who's in there with you?” He never got a response though and he couldn’t break the door down. 

“I am your Angel of Music,” the being purred holding out a hand for John, the blonde held his out as well a dazed smile crossing his lips. He didn’t even notice Sherlock pounding on his door and screaming his name.

“Come to the Angel of Music.” And finally John’s hand touched leather. Warmth, there was actually heat to his angel, he was real John could touch him. John allowed himself to be lead through the door of the mirror and into the catacombs, he’d follow his angel to the ends of the Earth.

“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.” Turning the angel burned him with his gaze and then graced him with his voice,

“Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet, and though you turn from me to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind.” They rode on horseback for a bit, John tucked into his angels embrace. The blonde looked up at his masked face then pulled the Angel closer to him.

“Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear...”

“It’s me they hear.”

“Your spirit and my voice, in one combined. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.”  
“My spirit and your voice, in one combined. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind.” The angel leads him to a boat and helps him sit, he feels the weight of Sherlock’s scarf in his pocket but forgets why it’s important.

“He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera.”

“Sing my Angel,” The Phantom pleads, as if hearing his voice is the sound of heaven itself. “Sing my Angel of Music, sing for me...sing...sing my Angel. Sing for me!” The Angel demands as John reaches his limit vocally. The Angel moves to the nearby rock and flips off his cloak, holding his arms out as if presenting the chamber to him.

“I have brought you, to the seat of sweet music’s throne. To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music. Music...You have come here for one purpose and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me to sing, for my music. My music...” His tone changes and John is lost to his hypnotic words, “Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation, darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses.” 

John’s heart races with every step closer his Angel takes, he thinks he might die when he he pulled from the boat, closer to his waking dream.

“Slowly, gently, night unfurls it’s splendor. Grasp it, sense it-” with a small teasing smile the Angel beckons him closer, “tremulous and tender.” Tender, there was something he was- gentle fingers pulled him back and he melted at his Angel’s touch helpless not to obey his every word.

“Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light...And listen to the music of the night.” The angel let go of his hands and dashed up onto a platform, his smile put the stars to shame. “Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes and let your spirit start to soar, and you’ll live as you’ve never lived before.” Come back, please Angel touch me again, tell me this isn’t a dream, John begged silently so he wouldn’t throw himself at the masked figure before him. A gloved hand was held out to him again, as if to soothe his thoughts and fears, all he needed to do was touch.  
“Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you.” So close, so close please come closer. “Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness you know you cannot fight...the darkness of the music of the night.” John followed his Angel, the candles made his skin glow and knew he wanted the Angel more than anything before. His voice, his everything, John wanted him so bad he could taste it.  
“Let your mind start a journey through this strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be!” His Angel called to the heavens and they answered, they answered through the heat in his eyes. “Only then can you belong to me.” Hands brushed over his throat and he swallowed, please. Finally arms encircled him and pulled him tightly against the warm body of his beloved. His angel, his beautiful angel, finally he was in the arms of his angel.

“Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.” Lips dragged over his wrist and his head fell back to the strong shoulder that supported him. Smooth, soft skin like rose petals under his fingertips. “Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.” Too soon his angel pulled away, leading him somewhere else. “Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write,” The Angel showed John a bed formed by a bronze swan with red velvet sheets, lips touched his neck, 

“The power of the Music of the Night.” And then everything went black. The Phantom lifted the small singer easily and placed him in the bed. The drugs wouldn’t last long but they also wouldn’t have any side effects, untraceable. He chuckled as he brushed John’s hair back.

“You will make my song take flight, the game begins Sherlock Holmes, tonight.” Mike jammed the key in the lock and finally got the door open,

“I’m afraid I don’t know where he is Monsieur Holmes, I haven’t seen him for some time.” Sherlock stepped past the man and inspected the room. The candle wax was cold, they’d been out for some time, Sherlock’s scarf wasn’t there and John’s costume was folded behind the changing screen. Sherlock almost believed he’d been stood up, until he saw the crack of light by the mirror.

“Thank you Mike, I’ll see myself out.” Dismissed, the young man left. Once Sherlock made sure the coast was clear he pulled the mirror back and peered into the catacombs. He was able to follow them down to a certain degree but it was difficult without proper lighting, when he went to head back however he saw Mrs. Hudson standing there through the mirror.

“Jim” she sighed fondly before closing the passage, Sherlock’s blood ran cold.

“Yah!” Joseph yells to the delighted squeals of the chorus girls and boys, they cling to each other and giggle excitedly. Mike thinks they’re fools.

“Like yellow parchment is his skin! A great black hole serves as the nose that... never grew.” He dropped the cloak he had been playing with, “You must be always on your guard, or he will catch you with his magical...lasso!” He used the hangmans noose he pulled from his belt to yank one of the dancers he was fond of close and growled at her. Mike was content to ignore them until Mrs. Hudson approached them and separated the two, she held the noose in a white-knuckled grip and rounded on the man.

“Those who speak of what they know, find too late that prudent silence is wise. Joseph Buquet hold your tongue.” She slapped him before flipping the noose around his neck. “Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!” She hissed snapping the rope taunt.

The music box played a soft melody that would come to haunt John for years, the blonde sat up and glanced around before finding a cord, he pulled up the black lace curtains and stepped out to see his Angel sitting at the organ.

“I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat. And in the boat there was a man...” he paused to see if he had managed to capture his Angel’s attention, he had and made his way over to his beloved, “Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is that face in the mask?” Wishing to see his Angel, John brushed his fingers lightly over skin before pulling away that thin layer of plaster. There was a second of silence and then his Angel exploded, shoving him away before covering his face with a long-fingered hand.

“Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?!” His Angel stood before a mirror face uncovered before he was on the move again, hiding the damage, “Curse you, you little lying Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free!” The Angel spat at him, moving away he shoved over a candlestick as he began to calm down, “Damn you! Curse you!” And then his song changed,

“Stranger than you dreamt it, Can you even bear to look, or bear to think of me?” His angel swayed toward him and John felt like an insect pierced to a table by his gaze. “This lonesome gargoyle who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly, secretly, oh Angel. Fear can turn to love, you’ll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster. This... repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly.” His angel knelt before him, broken and lost. John felt his heart crack.

“John, angel.” Hands shaking he handed the mask back. As he watched the Angel cover up his mistake, why he had fallen, he couldn’t help but wish he’d gone to dinner with Sherlock. Then his Angel spoke again, sharp and detached,  
“Come. We must return. Those two fools who run my theatre, will be missing you.”


	3. Act III

Mycroft stepped through the opera doors rubbing his temples, damn his brother and his hairbrained schemes, and damn the Opera Ghost for existing.

“Mystery! After Gala night, it says mystery of soprano’s flight. Mystified, all the papers say, we are mystified, we suspect foul play. Bad news on soprano scene first Donovan and now Watson! Still at least the seats get sold, gossips worth it’s weight in gold. What a way to run a business, spare me these unending trials. Half you cast disappears, but the crowd still cheers. Opera! To hell with Gluck and Handel, have a scandal and you’re sure to have a hit!” Lestrade came in and made his way quickly to Mycroft,

“Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is ridiculous!” Mycroft placed a hand on the mans chest.

“Gregory please calm down, it’s Sherlock. Of course it’s ridiculous. Still, it’ll work.”

“But we have no cast!” Lestrade protested. Mycroft gave him a quick kiss and smirked,

“Gregory, have you seen the queue? Now, repeat what he sent to you.”

“Dear Lestrade, what a charming gala, Johnny was in a word sublime. We were hardly bereft when Sally left; on that note, the diva’s a disaster. Must you cast her when she’s seasons past her prime.” Mycroft picked up right after,

“Dear Mycroft, just a brief reminder...from the one who truly owns this opera. Stay out of my way and keep your meddling to a minimum. Or I’ll kill your lover so make sure my orders are obeyed.”

“Who would have the gall to send this?”

“Someone with a puerile brain. These are both signed O.G.”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Opera Ghost.”

“It’s not that shocking.”

“He is mocking our position!”

“In addition he wants something?”

“What a funny apparition!”

“This is no apparition, this is a person and he is clearly quite insane.” Right on que Sherlock burst through the doors.

“Where is he?”

“You mean Mycroft?” Lestrade asked pointing to the older Holmes.

“I mean John, where is he?”

“Well, he hasn’t been found yet.”

“I want an answer! I have also received a note.”

“What, you did?”

“Of course Greg.” Mycroft said placing a hand on his lovers back.

“How was I to know.”

“So he’s not back yet?”

“No he’s not.”

“Sherlock you-”

“Greg, don’t argue. Just read the note.” Mycroft snatched it and looked it over,

“It’s the same format in which ours were written. ‘Do not fear for dear Johnny. The Angel of Music has him under his wing, make no attempt to see him again.’”

“This tells us quite a bit about him actually.”

“Where is he?!” Sally demanded entering the lobby of the opera house.”

“Ah, welcome back-” She interrupted Lestrade, “Your precious patron, where is he?”

“What is it now?” Sherlock sighed,

“I have your letter, a letter which I rather resent.”

“And did you send it?”

“Wish I had.”

“Sherlock!” Greg scolded.

“You didn’t send it?”

“Of course not!”

“What’s going on?” Greg asked trying to calm things down before the diva slapped Sherlock.

“You dare to tell me this is not the letter you sent?”

“And what is it that I wish I had sent?” Sherlock took the letter and arched an eyebrow before reading it out loud,

“Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. John Watson will be singing on your behalf tonight-” Sally hissed John’s name in indignation, Sherlock ignored her,  
“...be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take his place.” The most interesting part about the letter was it didn’t even have her name like theirs did it was simply addressed Travesti the French word for a woman who played male roles in theatre. He glanced over at Greg and Mycroft who recognized the look he was giving them,

“Far too many notes for my taste, and most of them about John, all we’ve heard since we came is Mr. Watson’s name-”

“Mr. Watson has returned.” Everyone turned to face Mrs. Hudson, Mike stood at her side.

“I hope no worse for wear so far as we’re concerned?”

“Where precisely is he now?”

“I thought it best he was alone.”

“He needed rest.” Mike spoke looking directly at Sherlock.

“I will see him.”

“No, Monsieur, he will see no one.”

“Will he sing, will he sing?” The others clamored.

“Here, I have a note.”

“Let me see it!” They all demanded, she handed it to Mycroft.

“Gentlemen, I have now sent you several note of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run! You have not followed my instructions, I shall give you one last chance. John Watson has returned to you, and I am anxious his career should progress. In the new Production of ‘Il Muto’ you will therefore cast Sally as the pageboy, and put Johnny in the role of Countess. The role which dear Watson plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the pageboy is silent which makes my casting in a word, ideal.” Mycroft continued speaking but Sherlock wasn’t listening. Sally played both male and female roles, the ‘Ghost’ clearly had a problem with that by the demeaning title he called the woman in her letter. But then he put her in a female playing a male role and John in a female role, it just didn’t add up. Why the switch, John did have the vocal range to be in a female role but it would be hard to maintain for an entire play. Sally’s shrill voice brought him him out of his musings.

“Watson! It’s all a ploy to help John Watson!

“This is all insane.” Mycroft was clearly getting a headache.

“I know who sent this, the freak, his lover.”

“Indeed! Can you believe this?” Sally brushed past him and went to pack her things. The men were content to let her go, until Sherlock whispered his new plan to them. They weren’t happy but chased after the diva. Traitors, she yelled in Italian. Mycroft just called her Signora, only Lestrade thought to compliment her. Sherlock looked impressed for all of two seconds before sneaking away.

“You are our star!” Greg cried,

“And always will be!”

“Signora!”

“The man is mad!”

“We don’t take orders!”

“John Watson will be playing the pageboy! The silent role.” Mycroft stated, the two men looked at each other with dread,

“Sally will be playing the lead!” They declared chasing after her.

“It’s useless trying to appease me!” By this time Anderson had shown up, fearful of his lover as he tailed her echoing her words.

“Appease her!”

“You’re only saying this to please me!”

“To please her!” Sherlock could faintly hear Mrs. Hudson singing as he headed down the hall,

“To scorn his word, beware to those. The Angel sees, the Angel knows.” 

“Signora, pardon us!”

“You have replaced me!”

“Please Signora, we beseech you!” She shouted in Italian again, Mycroft scowled, Greg had no idea what she said.

“Signora sing for us! Don’t be a martyr!” 

“What new surprises are in store?” They all sang as Sherlock picked the lock on John’s door. Sunlight streamed into the opera house as Sally threw open the doors to a cheering crowd. A woman rushes to her and holds out a rose,

“Could you please give this to John Watson?” Sally backs away and shuts the door as the woman tries to repeat her question.

“Your public needs you.” Lestrade said, the man was really trying.

“The opera needs you too.” Mycroft grit out, Sally turned to glare at him,

“Would you not rather have your precious little ingènue?” She got out between clenched teeth.

“Signora, no! The world wants you.” Greg and Mycroft vowed to kill Sherlock after the play that night, “Prima donna, first lady of the stage! Your devotees are on their knees to implore you.”

“Can you bow out when their shouting your name?”

“Think of how they all adore you!”

“Prima donna, enchant us once again!”

“Think of your muse...”

“And of the queues around the theatre!”

“Can you deny us the triumph in store? Sing Prima Donna once...” Sherlock closed John’s door silently and turned, smile falling as he strode down the hall with purpose,

“John, spoke of an angel...”

“Prima donna, your song shall live again!” Murder was too kind for Sherlock Holmes, the couple decided. “You took a snub, but there’s a public who needs you!”

“He has heard the voice of the Angel of Music.”

“Those who hear your voice liken you to an angel!”

“Think of their cry of undying support!”

“I’ll bury Sherlock alive.”

“I’ll get the shovel.”

“Leading ladies are a trial!”

“Prima donna, your song shall never die! You’ll sing again and to unending ovation!”

“Orders! Warnings! Lunatic Demands!” Sherlock muttered to himself as he walked through the halls.

“Tears, oaths, lunatic demands are regular occurrences!”

“Think how you’ll shine in that final encore!”

“Surely there’ll be further scenes worse than this!” Greg almost dropped the pedestal and Mycroft was ready to dump the diva over for that alone, screw Sherlock’s plots and plans.

“...see these demands are rejected.” Sherlock hissed to himself as he headed back to the lobby, he found nothing wrong with the stage or Box 5. The large pink monstrosity floated down from the ceiling and made the two men shudder in revulsion.

“Who’d believe a diva happy to relieve a chorus boy, who gone and slept with the patron.” And this was what they needed, the final piece, the gossip about the two old friends, “John and the Vicomte entwined in loves duet. Although he may deny, he must have been with him. You’d never get away with all this in a play but if it’s loudly sung and in a foreign tongue, it’s just the sort of story audiences adore, in fact a perfect opera.”

“Prima donna, the world is at your feet! A nation waits and how it hates to be cheated! Light up the stage with that age old rapport. Sing, Prima donna, once more!” 

The curtains were set and Greg and Mycroft sat in their own box with Sherlock in Box 5. Greg would never comprehend the amount of influence Mycroft had to make all of this possible, not to mention the faith he had in his brother to pull this off. The dark-haired noble nodded to them right before the curtains opened.

“They say that this youth has set my Lady’s heart aflame!”

“His Lordship sure would die of shock!”

“His Lordship is a laughingstock!”

“Should he suspect her, God protect her...”

“Shame, shame, shame! This faithless lady’s bound for Hades...shame, shame, shame!” Another curtain was pulled back and showed John in a skirt and wig, on a bed, feeling up Sally Donovan. Sherlock felt his skin crawl.

“Serafimo, your disguise is perfect!” She declared, a block acted as a door knocker, “Why, who can this be?” She sang.

“Gentle wife, admit your loving husband!” Anderson replied and Sherlock snorted, this story would make a fairly good parallel to their lives.

Greg was gripping Mycroft’s hand tightly,  
“I really hope this works Myc.”

“My love, I’m called to England on affairs of state, and must leave you with your new maid!” He stage-grabbed John’s ass and the man shot up greatly offended. “Though I would happily take the maid with me!” He winked to the crowd, Sally added,

“The old fool is leaving!” The audience laughed.

“Oh God the Countess de Charbourg is here! What if these people get hurt, we’ve unwittingly put them in danger.”

“Nothing like that has happened before, calm down Gregory.”

“But-” Mycroft silenced him with a soft kiss and a squeeze of his hand. Back down on the stage Sally turned to John,

“Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband’s absence.” Far above the stage an alleged angel prepared to ensure that from now on, none would question him.

“Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Haha, haha. Time I tried to get a better, better half!”

“Poor fool, he doesn’t know. Hoho,hoho.”

“If he knew the truth, he’d never, ever go!”

“DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?” The voice echoed, across the chandelier from Sherlock. The crowd began to titter nervously, not even the cast was unaffected.

“He’s here: the Phantom of the Opera!” Mike gasped, he too was dressed like a woman this time around.

“It’s him.” John gasped breathlessly.

“Your part is silent, little toad!” She snapped before realizing she was on stage, a smile and a giggle tried to diffuse the tension.

“A toad madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad.” The cast reset after Sally took a spritz of her vocal spray, Sherlock sat forward in his seat. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen now. He signaled to Mycroft and Greg to be ready.

“Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my huszzzzz-” Jaws dropped and snickers were poorly muffled, even the Holmes brothers both raised an eyebrow.

“Poor fool he makes me laugh! Haha, haha-chk” Sally ran off stage screaming for something in Italian. The crowd was laughing hysterically as the curtains dropped trapping one of the cast members up front. Mycroft and Greg run up onto the stage,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize. The performance shall continue in ten minutes time, after a few changes are made. Until then, we will crave your indulgence for a few moments.” Mycroft glanced up at Sherlock who nodded.

“Meanwhile, we’d like to give you the ballet from act three of tonight’s Opera.” Greg stuttered out. Mycroft, Reyer and Sherlock all gave him astonished looks.

“What?!” The Maestro exclaimed.

“Reyer, if it’s not too much trouble please. The ballet, now please!” The pit burst into frantic motion.

“Thank you.” Mycroft declares before grabbing Greg’s arm and dragging him away. They could hear the audience laughing as the dancers rushed to set up for their dance.

“You’re fired.” Monsieur Reyer said to the idiot prancing on the stage once they were out of earshot.

“What was that Gregory?”

“I don’t know I panicked, I looked at all those people out there and I panicked. Myc we are responsible for them, and here we are antagonizing a madman who knows about our relationship and is threatening us.” Mycroft sighed,

“You need to be calm Gregory.”

“Calm! Mycroft Holmes I am far past calm, we bought this place for us so that we could have something to do together when we had free time. Now I have to worry about people dying because you and your brother are so caught up in your sick and twisted mind games!” Mycroft leveled a glare at Greg that would have lesser men crying for their mothers, the ex-police man held his own though and Mycroft couldn’t help but smile,

“You and your heart Gregory Lestrade.” He brushed his thumb over Greg’s cheek, glowing internally when his beloved leaned into the touch. “I promise you no one will get hurt.” And then the screaming started. Sherlock could faintly see the rigging moving from his seat but he didn’t think much of it, the action was not uncommon during an accident mid-performance. The body however dropping from the rigging to hang center stage was new though. Sherlock left the box and ran toward the stage using the back paths that the actors frequented. He got on the stage and quickly pressed his fingers to Buquet’s throat. Dead, neck snapped in the fall, there was a flash of movement from the corner of Sherlock’s eye and in icy chill slid down Sherlock’s spine.

“John.” The Vicomte ran backstage his heart pounding, thankfully John was already there.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock demanded gripping John’s arms.

“Sherlock, we’re not safe here.” John looked terrified as he pulled Sherlock along behind him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats! Do not panic! It’s simply an accident! An accident!” Mycroft knew it wasn’t but he was too focused on caring for an ashen Greg to really care.

“Why have you brought me here?” They were in the heart of the opera house and climbing up a spiral staircase.

“We can’t go back there.”

“We must return!” He needed to solve the murder.

“He’ll kill you! His eyes will find us there-”

“John, don’t say that.”

“Those eyes that burn!”

“Don’t even think that!” Sherlock tried to soothe, John was going to start hyperventilating.

“And if he has to kill a thousand men-”

“Forget this waking nightmare.” Sherlock pleaded.

“The Phantom of the Opera will kill and kill again.”

“There is no Phantom of the Opera!”

“My God who is this man?” John fretted, Sherlock found himself echoing the phrase intrigued.

“Who hunts to kill.”

“This mask of death.”

“I can’t escape from him-”

“Whose voice you hear-”

“I never will.”

“With every breath.”

“And in this Labyrinth where night is blind, The Phantom of the Opera is-”

“There, inside your mind.”

“Here, inside my mind.”

“There is no Phantom of the Opera!” Sherlock said firmly, the look of terror of John’s face was making him question that statement though.

“Sherlock, I’ve been there. To his world of unending night, to a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness...darkness.” Sherlock then noticed the single red rose tied by a black ribbon in John’s hands. “Sher, I’ve seen him. Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face in that darkness... darkness.” John’s eyes went distant and he moved as if in a trance, if anything that concerned Sherlock even more. Faintly he caught a whiff of the smell of burnt wood, and then a few more pieces to his puzzle fell into place.

“But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound. In the night there was music in my mind...and through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I’d never heard before-”

“What you heard was a dream and nothing more.”

“Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threatened and adored.”

“John, John please.”

“Johnny.” Sherlock watched as John’s head snapped up, hypnotism perhaps but it did confirm one thing, he was here. Sherlock took a deep breath, he really didn’t want to do this with an audience. He took John’s hand in his, which caused the blonde to look up at him in surprise. Last time Sherlock had seen John’s eyes that wide they’d been much younger and Sherlock had just done something stupid...like he was about to do again. 

“No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears, I’m here. Nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom,” the taller man stroked his fingers down John’s cheek when the shorter man tried to look away, “let daylight dry your tears. I’m here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you.” John clearly remembered the last time Sherlock had spoken those words because he positively glowed.

“Say you love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always, promise me that all you say is true. That’s all I ask of you.” Sherlock pulled John to him and whispered in his ear as John clung to his jacket,

“Let me be your shelter, as long as you’re my light, you’re safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.” He pulled them closer to the opera house door in case they needed to get back inside quickly, the ghost would likely not like losing John to Sherlock. The blonde bit his lip looking down as he confessed,

“All I want is freedom, a world with no more night.” That intense blue gaze was suddenly focused on him again, “And you always beside me, to hold me and to hide me.” He took John’s hands again and pulled him around the roof trying to pinpoint the man’s location if he did attack,

“Then say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let us not be left to solitude.” He pulled John tight into his arms when he caught a glimpse of black, he wished he could block John from the man’s sight, ensure he never touched John again, “Say you need me with you here, beside you.” He trailed his fingers up John’s arm and smiled at the blonde’s bright grin. Captain and first mate back together again, “Anywhere you go let me go too. John love, that’s all I ask of you.” Sherlock rested his head next to John’s and felt the other man melt.

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you.” John winked, he’d said those words a hundred times before, Sherlock kissed his temple voice curling around his like a well known lover,

“Share each day with me, each night, each morning.” 

“Say you love me.” John begged quietly, eyes glowing.

“You know I do.”

“Love me, that’s all I ask of you.” The kiss was soft, both of them trying not to giggle.

“Anywhere you go, let me go too. Love me that’s all I ask of you.” Sherlock kissed him again eyes open and alert, there was no way he’d let go of John now. John laughed as they walked toward the door,

“I will say, that was much better than our last kiss as kids. You think so Sherlock?” The taller man laughed,

“Yes John, I love you.” John’s smile turned teasing,

“Order your fine horses, be with them at the door.”

“And soon, you’ll be beside me.”

“You’ll guard me and you’ll guide me.” John had picked up the rose again and Sherlock arched a brow as he watched John study it. The blonde dropped it to the ground and instead twined his fingers through Sherlock’s. The man locked the door behind them with a small smirk. The Phantom jumped down from the statue and stuck his hands in his pockets running his tongue over his teeth with disdain.

“I gave you my music, made your song take wing. And now how you’ve repaid me: denied me and betrayed me.” The man tutted softly glancing over at the door, as if the lock would actually keep him out. “I know I shouldn’t have let this go on so long. Oh Johnny...” The phantom sighed as he scooped the rose up and ripped all the petals off, watching them fall like drops of blood. He licked his lips at the thought, “you will curse the day you did not do, all that the Phantom asked of you!” The madman cackled as he scaled the walls of the opera house, he had some planning to do.


	4. Act IV

Paris 1919

~

Sherlock’s carriage jittered on the cobblestones as he held the musicbox to his chest. Glancing out the window he saw a young couple discussing the piece of jewelry in the window of a Swarovski store. He was going to buy it for her birthday. In a brief moment he saw himself and John picking out their rings in front of a similar store. John had been overjoyed when Sherlock proposed, asking if they could get rings the next day. Sherlock could not have been happier. His mind drifted back again to that engagement and John’s ring.

1870

The fireworks exploded in bright colors, celebrating the new year. Carriages and people spilled out all over the streets before the Opera for their annual party. Pinks, reds, and whites, highlighted fine dresses and suits of the noble men and women invited to the night’s gala. Mycroft and Greg approached each other slowly, every second coordinated.

“Monsieur Lestrade.” Mycroft inclined his head, face serious.

“Monsieur Holmes.” Greg returned unable to keep the smirk from his face as they walked into Opera House together, both forgoing dates. 

“Dear Gregory, what a splendid party.”

“A lovely break from John and Sherlock.”

“Quite agreed. You look lovely.”

“Well, one does one’s best.” They shared a quick kiss, linking arms.

“Here’s to us!” They whispered.

“The toast of all the city...”

“What a pity that the Phantom can’t be here.” Mycroft got out as the camera flashed.

“Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Masquerade; hide your face, so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade. Masquerade. Look around, there’s another mask behind you! Flash of mauve, splash of puce, Fool and King, ghoul and goose, green and black, Queen and Priest. Trace of rouge, face of beast. Take your turn, take your ride on the merry-go-round. Eye of gold, thigh of blue. True is false, who is who? Curl of lip, swell of gown. Ace of hearts, face of clown. Faces! Drink it in, drink it up, till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound. But who can name the face! Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds! Masquerade! Take your fill-let the spectacle astound you! Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies. Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you! Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes. Masquerade! Run and hide- but a face will still pursue you!” Mrs. Hudson descended the staircase in her full splendor, Mike followed behind her.

“What a night!”

“What a crowd!” Mycroft and Lestrade joined them smiling, bowing and curtseying.

“Makes you glad!”

“Makes you proud! All the creme de la creme!”

“Watching us watching them!” Sally butt in.

“And all our fears are in the past!” Mike seemed more confident than Mrs. Hudson..

“Three months!”

“Of relief!”

“Of delight!”

“Of Elysian peace!”

“And we can breath at last.”

“No more notes!” Sally grinned at Anderson who beamed up at her and sang kissing her hand,

“No more ghosts!”

“Here’s to health.”

“Here’s a toast: to a prosperous year!”

“To our friends who are here!”

“And may it’s splendor never fade!”

“Three months.” Mycroft whispered in Greg’s ear.

“What a joy!” Mrs. Hudson cried.

“What a change!” Mike echoed.

“What a blessed relief...from John and Sherlock.” They finished under their breath.

“And what a masquerade!”

“Think of it!” John cried holding the ring Sherlock gave him in his hand, the taller man smiled down at him. “A real engagement! And you as my husband. Sherlock, think of it!” Sherlock kissed him but frowned,

“But for now just a secret. I don’t like having to hide. Just promise me.” John threw his arms around Sherlock 

“Everything Sherlock. Once he’s gone, I’m yours.”

“Then, that’s all I could ask for. I promise we’ll stop him. John,” Sherlock bit his lip, “why must we wait?”

“Not here Sherlock.”

“Yes here John.”

“Please understand, not until you solve this crime.”

“I’m doing everything to solve it in time.”

“Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Masquerade; hide your face, so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade. Masquerade! Look around, there’s another mask behind you. Masquerade! Burning glances,   
turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you! Masquerade! Grinning yellows spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill-let the spectacle astound you!” Everyone fell silent as a man joined them, John’s sudden loss of breath and the way he pressed against Sherlock told the man exactly who it was, the Phantom.

“Why so silent good monsieurs?” He purred, cloak following him like a deadly snake. “Did you think I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good monsieurs? I have written you an opera!” He brandished a thick sheaf of parchment,   
“Here I bring the finished score-” He tossed it down the stairs, “Don Juan Triumphant!” The Phantom declared proudly drawing his rapier. As he tapped it against his gloved hand, the ‘Red Death’ finished his descent to the ballroom floor.

“Fondest greetings to you all. A few instructions just before rehearsal starts:” He dragged the tip of his blade against Sally’s cheek leaving a light red line. “Donovan must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting round the stage.” Anderson stepped forward only to find the point or the Phantoms sword almost piercing his stomach. “Our Don Juan must lose some weight. It’s not healthy in a man of Anderson’s age.” He rounded on Mycroft and Lestrade, both of them tried to push the other behind him.

“And my managers must learn that their place is in an OFFICE, not the arts.” And finally he turned his eyes on John, the blonde stills as his blood runs cold.

“As for our star young John Watson.” Then that tempo starts up again, and John’s eyes glaze over, the Phantom moves closer John mirroring him. “No doubt, he’ll do his best. It’s true his voice is good, he knows. Though, should he wish to excel, he has much still to learn. If pride will let him return to me, his teacher...his teacher. No one had seen Sherlock disappear from John’s side and no one saw him return with his sword either, all eyes were on John and the Phantom who reached up and yanked off the necklace that John wore. The one with Sherlock’s ring. The spell immediately broke and John looked up at him in horror.

“Your chains are still mine! You belong to ME!” He hissed. The man spun on his heel and moved back up the staircase, there was a bang and suddenly the Phantom was engulfed in flames and falling through the floor. Sherlock dashed right after him. He found himself surrounded by mirrors each reflecting the Phantom, he took a few measured swings in an attempt to locate the real man but he never made contact. He was beginning to lose his patience when Mrs. Hudson appeared grabbing his arm.

“Mrs. Hudson, wait-”

“Please Sherlock, I know no more than anyone else!”

“That’s not true!”

“Monsieur, don’t ask! There have been too many accidents.”

“Accidents?!” Sherlock exclaimed, “Please, Mrs. Hudson, for all our sakes!”

“Very well.” She sighed bowing her head. She lit a few lights in her chambers before looking to the collection of photos on her night stand.  
“It was years ago. I found him in an alley. Homeless. I was very young, studying to be a ballerina...one of many. Living in the dormitory of the opera house.” A young woman walked the streets of London with a lantern, wrapped up in her cloak.

“Let me go, let me go!” She heard as she passed a shadowed street.

“Make me, devil’s child!” Other urchins who only lived by stealing from those weaker than them. Martha Hudson bit her lip and turned away to flee when she heard a cut off choking noise, she turned back just in time to see the boy strangling those who tried to rob him. Then they heard someone cry murder and a bobby appeared. Before she could think she grabbed the boys hand and they took off running. She pulled him into the Opera house through the chapel window.

“He lost everything in a fire, his only friend. He got such horrible nightmares so I told him stories. Your stories, yours and John’s. They helped him so much. Oh Sherlock he’s a genius, he reminded me so much of you. A true genius!”

“Mrs. Hudson, Jim Moriarty is a madman!” And with that Sherlock told Mrs. Hudson the story of an arson case he worked with Lestrade, one where he had been too slow to prevent the fire. And how he thought Moriarty had been dead, along with his friend Moran. But now lived as the Phantom of the Opera. 

John woke silently, getting dressed as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to kiss Sherlock who fell asleep guarding his door. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at his beloved’s devotion, but this was something he needed to do. He slipped down to the stables and approached the coachman.

“Where to monsieur?” He asked,

“The cemetery.” John whispered afraid that the slightest noise would stir Sherlock or the Phantom, or both. The coachman nods and begins to prepare a carriage while John collects some half dead roses from a vase left out after the New Years celebration. John failed to observe the fact that it was not the coachman in front of him but the Phantom. Back in the Opera House, Sherlock woke.  
“To my Parent’s grave, please.” Josh gave in a hushed voice, still nervous. The coachman begins to drive without a word. Sherlock dashed down a flight of stairs, catching a glimpse of John from the window. He grabs the coachman who is just stirring,

“Where have they gone?” The tall man demands.

“Ahh. The cemetery.” He grumbles nursing his head. Sherlock’s gaze turns red and without a second thought jumps on a horse and rides toward the cemetery bareback. In the carriage John wars with himself.

“In sleep he sang to me. In dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name...” Sherlock pressed the horse even faster, ‘don’t let me be too late’ he begged. John stepped out of the carriage and held his breath as he took his first step into the cemetery.

“Little Johnny thought of everything and nothing. His parents promised him that they would send him the Angel of Music. His parents promised him...his parents promised him.” John choked back tears.  
“You were once my only companions, you were all that mattered. You were once my mother and father, then my world was shattered. Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voices again, knowing that I never would...Dreaming of you won’t help me to do, all that you dreamed I could! Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental...seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle. Too many years fighting back tears, why can’t the past just die? Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye! Try to forgive, teach me to live. Give me the strength to try! No more memories, no more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years! Help me say goodbye...help me say Goodbye!” John sat in silence at the foot of his parents tomb begging for an answer, a sign, anything.

“Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance.” The voice came from the tomb!

“Angel or Father? Mother or Phantom? Who is it there staring?”

“Have you forgotten your angel.” 

“Angel, oh speak, what endless longings, echo in this whisper?” Again that soft haze spread over John’s mind making him compliant, but not all of him wished to obey. Not now that he had Sherlock.

“Too long you’ve wandered in winter, far from my parenting gaze.” John grit his teeth against the war going on inside his head.

“Wildly my mind beats against you...”

“You resist...”

“Yet the soul obeys.  
“Yet your soul obeys.”

“Angel of Music.” His Angel, but was it truly his angel. He couldn’t stop his feet though as he came closer and closer, slipping away from Sherlock’s love and warmth.

“I denied you.”

“You denied me.”

“Turning from true beauty, Angel of Music!”

“Do not shun me, come to your strange Angel.

“My protector, come to me strange Angel.” The last of John’s resistance slipped away when that hypnotic noise began again. weaving him more thoroughly into the Phantom’s spell.

“I am your Angel of Music, Come to me Angel of Music.”

“No John, wait!” John almost thought he’d imagined Sherlock’s voice, but then he called out again, “Wait!” John turned to him and the spell was broken.

“Sherlock!” His fiance drew his sword and ran to him,

“There is no Phantom John, this man-this thing- is James Moriarty.” He placed a comforting hand on John’s arm, the blonde wanted to bury himself in Sherlock’s arms. He was so sick of winter. Moriarty flung himself off the roof in a downward slash at Sherlock that he only just avoided. His cape flew behind him like raven’s wings as he whipped his blade through the air at Sherlock. Steel rang out in the early morning of the graveyard. He tried to blind Sherlock with his cloak slashing blindly but Sherlock jumped over the balcony. He was barely able to recover from his fall before Moriarty was on him again, he dashed toward several monuments for cover. 

They twisted and turned in a macabre dance while John watched in horror from the stairs. A gnarled oak stood tall as if watching the fight like a hawk, or a vulture. Sherlock tripped over a root and fell to the snow but a branch stopped Moriarty’s wide swing from injuring him while he scrambled to his feet. Sparks flew as blade slid across a metal grate trapped together, their eyes met briefly then James elbowed him in the shoulder pulling his blade free. They ended up on either side on a monument on a raised pedestal trying to spot each other through the cracks. Then Moriarty disappeared. He was only able to parry the otherwise crippling blow at the last second and shoved back against the madman as hard as he dare on the unsteady terrain. They moved faster and faster sword meeting with a frighteningly increasing intensity. Moriarty tried to use his cape to blind Sherlock again, the tall man turned away but still Moriarty’s blade caught his left arm. He cried out as blood began to soak into the fabric, shock rendering the limb useless for a moment. It also gave him a much needed surge of adrenaline. He began to push the man back relentlessly striking again and again until Moriarty fell back his sword pinned to the ground by Sherlock’s. He twisted it out of his grasp and kicked it aside before rearing back to kill the man responsible for so much destruction. 

“No Sherlock!” John cried, the man immediately turned to the blond, changing his grip on the rapier to a defensive one. “No, not like this.” He begged. Sherlock looked between them both. Moriarty lay before him panting on the ground, almost demanding that he finish the job. That he become a murderer. Giving up Sherlock stepped back and sheathed his sword, he didn’t want John to see that, or him like that. He strode to John, grabbing his arm and marching them back to the horse he’d rode. Once they were both on he spurred the beast into a dead run, past the Phantom and back to the Opera House. The madman stood and flicked snow off his cape, staring after them,

“Now, let it be war upon you both.”


	5. Act V

The second they got back to the Opera House Sherlock handed John over to Mrs. Hudson and sought out his brother and Greg. “We have all been blind, and yet the answer is staring us in the face! This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend.”

“We’re listening!” Mycroft gestured demanding he get on with it.

“Go on!” Greg added.

“We shall play his game, perform his work but remember we hold the ace! For if John Watson sings, he is certain to attend.”

“We are certain the doors are barred!”

“We are certain the police are there!”

“We are certain they are armed!” Sherlock demanded eyes flashing.

“The curtain falls his reign will end!” Lestrade still had many ties to the police and Sherlock watched them all arrive before going to look for John. Far above the Opera House a lone figure wearing a stolen and then copied costume sabotaged the Opera House he had once called his home. Not that it mattered anymore. 

John was kneeling in the Opera’s church staring at the candles, Sherlock realized he was trying not to cry. The man had half a mind to call it all off when John spoke.

“Sherlock, I’m frightened. Don’t make me do this. It scares me.” John ran into Sherlock’s arms and let himself be held by the other man. “Don’t put me through this ordeal by fire. He’ll take me, I know. We’ll be parted forever. He won’t let me go. Not now that he knows that we know who he is. It won’t ever end.” The blonde sniffed and drifted toward the window. He loved Sherlock and knew that he was only trying to protect him, but the one thing Sherlock didn’t realize is this Phantom had been his only friend, had taught him how to sing, had given him a place to belong. He thought the Phantom had been a gift from his parents, what would they think of him now knowing he’d been consorting with the devil in human form and engaged to a man in secret? 

“And he’ll always be there singing songs in my head, he’ll make me forget you by putting songs in my head.” Sherlock did, contrary to popular belief, care about people’s feelings but that was only if he cared for them. He knew what it was like to be alone, or to have the rug pulled out from under you and he saw that reflected in John’s eyes. He just hoped he could get through this night and keep John by his side forever. 

“You said yourself, he was nothing but a man. Yet while he lives, he will haunt us ‘till we’re dead.”

“Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought, he murders all that’s good! I know I can’t refuse, and yet I wish I could. Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom’s Opera?”

“John, John please you know I'll be there, but you're the only one who can solve this case now.” Sherlock squeezed John tightly pressing kisses to his hair.

 

O~O

“Seal my fate tonight.” Running through mental checklists: mask fit, yes. Trap doors ready, yes. “I hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke’s wearing thin. Let the audience in-” Ready to destroy his pet and Sherlock? Yes he thinks as he pushes the candle into the model stage. “Let my Opera begin!”

John felt like he was going to have a heart attack when he heard the conductors baton on his music rest, and then the music started and John sent up one last prayer for safety for everyone in the Opera House tonight. Then the Chorus started.

“Here the sire may serve the dam, here the Master takes his meat! Here the sacrificial lamb, utters one despairing bleat!” The crowd looked vaguely disturbed as Sally took center stage.

“Poor young man! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets, you will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets! Serve the meal and serve the maid! Serve the meal and serve the maid! Serve the master so that when tables, plans, and maids are laid, Don Juan triumphs once again!” Sherlock kept scanning the room he had an officer in the box with him but Sherlock had already dismissed the man as an idiot. Mycroft kept a comforting hand on Greg’s leg which jiggled nervously. Mike was tossing a bag of coins around with several other members of the play, then Anderson came out.

“Passarino, faithful friend, once again recite the plan!” Passarino laughed and joked along with his master about the fate of the poor young man he intended to rape.

“Your young guest believes I’m you- I the master you the man!”

“When you met you wore my cloak he could not have seen your face. He believes he dines with me, in his master’s borrowed place. Furtively, we’ll scoff and quaff, stealing what in truth is mine. When it’s late and modesty starts to mellow with the wine.”

“You come home! I use your voice- slam the door like crack of doom!”

“I shall say ‘Come hide with me! Where oh, where? Of course my room!’”

“Poor thing hasn’t got a chance!”

“Here’s my hat, my cloak and sword. Conquest is assured, if I do not forget myself and laugh!” Anderson walked backstage laughing loudly. Moriarty silenced him as John walked on stage. His shirt was cut so low it almost hit his navel, his trousers also left little to the imagination. If there hadn’t been so much riding on this Opera Sherlock might not have held himself back.

“No thoughts within his head, but thoughts of joy. No dreams within his heart but dreams of love!” John glanced up at where Sherlock should be, it was hard to see with the stage lights.

“Master?” Passarino asks a little nervous. He has every right to be when he realizes that it is not Anderson appearing on stage but a man he has never seen before. The Ghost, the Opera Ghost! He was real, and he was here! Moriarty turned to him, black eyes filled with madness and threats.

“Passarino...go away for the trap is set and waits for it’s prey.” Passarino runs away as quickly as he can, John is frozen on stage. Paralyzed with fear, he tries to find Sherlock from under his lashes. Warn him somehow. The stage creaked under Moriarty’s shoes as he came closer.

“You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish which ‘till now has been silent...silent.” Moriarty pressed a finger to his lips warningly and John felt his throat close up. “I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you’ve already succumbed to me. Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me.” No, no. Sherlock please. No. John felt himself slip away, this was so much stronger, John was helpless against him now. 

“Now you are here with me. No second thoughts,” Yes yes I do, Sherlock...I want...who? “you’ve decided. Decided.” John felt himself standing, under Moriarty’s spell again. “Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end.” John and Moriarty circled each other, eyes only for the other. Stage right Mrs. Hudson looked like she was going to be sick “Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend! What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks it door?” It was Moriarty’s touch that broke the spell, small cruel hands that were so different from Sherlock’s, Sherlock...my love. Forgive me. “What sweet seduction lies before us? Past the point of no return. The final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn beyond the point of no return.” Moriarty’s smirk was a dark thing, John closed his eyes against it thinking of Sherlock. Moriarty thought he had him, time to make him believe it.

“You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence.” John stared at Sherlock as he sang, wishing he could convey that his heart only beat for the man in the crowd. “Silence. I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I’ve already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent, and now I am here with you. No second thoughts, I’ve decided. Decided.” He began to move toward the rigging, he needed to finish this now, before Moriarty got his hands on him again. It was getting harder and harder to fight his influence. “Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question: how long should we two wait before we’re one? When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us.” Damn Moriarty was getting too close.

“Past the point of no return. The final threshold!” Moriarty held both of John’s hands in his across his body, keeping him trapped there. “The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We’ve passed the point of no return.” Sherlock was on his feet ready to snatch the gun and just shoot Moriarty right there, but the bastard was using John as a shield. John went limp in his grip, please someone shoot!

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me save me from my solitude.” No, no you will not poison Sherlock’s song. You will not take this from me you bastard! “Say you’ll want me with you here beside you.” John’s blue eyes lit up with a plan and he turned to face Moriarty. “Anywhere you go, let me go too.” Moriarty’s smirk said it all, he was so sure he’d won. “Johnny, that’s all I ask of-” John ripped the mask from Moriarty’s face stunning the crowd. Burns scored the right side of Moriarty’s face. 

Screams pierced the silence that now enveloped John and Jim, the Phantom looked momentarily shocked before grabbing him and using a dagger to cut the thick red rope supporting the chandelier. Moriarty kicked the handle for the trap door sending them plummeting through the stage. Sherlock was about to jump after them when the chandelier finally ripped through the ceiling of the Opera house and into the seats. The candles and stage lights immediately starting a fire. Sally fought her way backstage only to find a familiar face strangled to death at her feet.

“Oh Phillip my love!” She exclaimed falling down beside him. She stroked his hair and spoke to him in Italian, her makeup ran leaving black streaks on his face as she cried beside his body.

“Get up, Greg, we have to get these people out! Leave Moriarty to Sherlock!” Mycroft yelled hauling Lestrade along with him. Sherlock finally found Mrs. Hudson.

“Where did he take him?”

“Come with me Sherlock, I will take you to him. But remember, keep your hand at the level of your eyes!”

“I’ll come with you!” Mike volunteered.

“No, Mike, no. You must stay here!” Mrs. Hudson grabbed Sherlock’s hand pulling him along.

“Come with me, monsieur, come with me!” They disappeared into the wings. Mike saw a group of people trying to run for it and threw out his arms stopping them.

“No!”

Moriarty kept a punishing grip on John’s wrist yanking him hard enough to make him trip over several stairs.

“Down once more to the dungeons of my black madness! Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into darkness deep as hell! Why, you ask, was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place. Not for any mortal sin, but to get my revenge for Sherlock’s disgrace!”

_Track down this murderer, he must be found! Track down this murderer he must be found!_

They were back in the Phantom’s lair, John still being pulled about like a rag doll. “Abandoned by all but one! Met with hatred everywhere. The only person in my world, murdered by your lover there! Johnny! Why? Why?” He demanded shaking the blonde.

“Your hand at the level of your eyes!” They were deep in the catacombs, the fire had not yet reached here. Sherlock was trotting to keep up with the older woman who stopped abruptly.

“At the level of your eyes.” Sherlock echoed. 

“This is as far as I dare go.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said kissing her cheek. He took off his jacket, he needed his clothes to be as non-restrictive as possible. Twenty steps later he fell through the trapdoor. The water was icy and as soon as he came up for air the grate began to close. Sherlock took a deep breath and dove. There was a wheel rusted with age hidden under the foul sewer water, there was also a door he could likely not reach in time. He swam up for another quick breath and tried to calculate the amount of force needed to turn the wheel. He tested the resilience and found it harder than he’d expected, the breath left him from surprise. Kicking to the surface he took another breath, the grate was inches from his face now. Recalculating Sherlock braced himself the other way and with the burst of adrenaline he got after seeing the grate sink into the water was finally able to turn the wheel. He gripped the grate and allowed it to pull him up to the air. He never thought he’d be happy to breath catacomb air. Swimming to the door he hauled himself up and continued on his way to rescue John.

Moriarty was toying with John’s ring when the singer finally got up the courage to speak.

“Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for revenge? Am I now to be prey to your lust for Sherlock?”

“It’s Sherlock who condemned me to wallow in revenge, you just ended up being the tool to get to him. His love, which has just signed your fate.” John took a step back, “The burns I earned by trying to save Moran. A mask, my first inspiration for revenge. Pity comes too late, turn around and face your fate! A lifetime gone before begun.” Then Moriarty threw Sherlock’s ring at John, the blonde held it tightly.

“Your twisted words hold no power over me now. Your black melodies make me love Sherlock more.” There was a splashing sound and they both turned to look, it was Sherlock!

“Wait! I think my dear, we have a guest! Sir!” Moriarty sneered sarcastically.

“Sherlock.” John could have touched the stars he was so happy.

“This is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had known that you would come. And now my revenge is here. You have truly made my night!” Moriarty grabbed John’s arm hard yanking him to Jim’s side.

“Let me go!” John demanded.

“Jim Moriarty. Your quarrel is with me leave John out of this.”

“Oh it’s far too late for that.”

“I’m sorry Sherlock I tried.”

“It’s alright John. Do what you like to me but let John go free. He is innocent.”

“He is no more innocent than you or me!” Moriarty screamed, finally letting go of John to rage at Sherlock.

“He hasn’t harmed you, has he John?” Sherlock called completely ignoring Moriarty.

“See for yourself, sir.” Moriarty pulled a lever that lifted the gate to the Phantom’s lair. “Monsieur, I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm him? Why would I make him pay, for the sins which are yours.” Sherlock was ready for a   
fight not a noose, he should have seen it though. He tried to throw it off but Moriarty slammed him against the gate stunning him which allowed the madman to pull the rope tight. Sherlock got in a good punch though before Moriarty tied his hands spitting blood. “Let’s see you escape from this! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can stop me now! Now for Johnny.” Shoving away from Sherlock the Phantom rounded on John.

“You can either come with me- live your life as my slave. Refuse me and you send your lover to his death. This is the choice! This is the point of no return!”

“Any hope I might have held for your dark fate, grows cold and turns to deadly hate!”

“John I’m so sorry. So sorry. I never meant for you to get involved with this.” Sherlock was afraid, not of Moriarty but of what John would become if he died. Would John hunt Moriarty down, become just like him in his quest for vengeance, Sherlock was afraid of the answer. Moriarty was on him again, with more ropes, he was going to hang Sherlock right there on the gate.

“Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend. Once you were my guiding star but not anymore.”

“Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!”

“Don’t go with him, my life isn’t worth it.” Voices stacked over each other, each dying to be heard.

“...all hope of cries for help, no point in fighting!”

“For either way you chose I’m going to win.”

“Don’t try to chose, there’s no way to win.”

“So will you come with me, or do you send him to his grave!” Moriarty yanked on the rope cutting off Sherlock’s air, he struggled against the ropes spitting out,

“He’d never chose you just to save me!”

“Angel of Music...”

“Past the point of no return...”

“For pity’s sake John, say no!”

“...who deserves this?”

“...the final threshold.”

“Don’t throw your life away for my sake!” Nothing but his death could stop Moriarty, why couldn’t John see that?

“When will you see reason?

“His life is now the prize which you must earn!”

“Don’t give in John, not for me.”

“James Moriarty...”

“You’ve past the point of no return.”

“...you deceived me. I gave you my mind blindly.”

“You’ve lost Johnny. Make your choice!” Sherlock choked as the rope tightened again.

“Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone.” John slipped on Sherlock’s ring and walked into the water, Moriarty waited with raised eyebrows as John came closer. He slid his hands up Moriarty’s arms to his shoulders leaning closer, sliding one hand into his hair. And then knocking the Phantom out with a headbutt and dropping him on the stairs.

“Moron.” John hissed splashing over to Sherlock.

“If you had kissed him I might have had to break off our engagement.” Sherlock joked as John pulled the ropes off. As soon as the taller man had his hands free he pressed John against the gate and kissed him until they saw stars.

“The only person I’m kissing is you.”

_Track down this murderer, he must be found._

“Mike has organized a mob to hunt down Moriarty, we need to get out of here before the Opera House collapses.” Sherlock demanded pulling them toward the stairs.

_Hunt out this animal, who runs to ground! Too long he’s preyed on us- but now we know..._

It took Sherlock a minute and a half to discover the passage behind the mirror, had to hit a few with a candlestick to see if they were the one. Finally one shattered and they found their escape.

_The Phantom of the Opera is there deep down below._

Moriarty stirred right as they disappeared through the mirror, Sherlock looked back at him before pulling the curtain to hide the entrance.

Jim stumbles to his desk clutching his ringing head. The barrel organ monkey Seb bought for him sat on the center of the desk. He opens a drawer pulling out his mask and a photo frame.

“I couldn’t do it Sebby.” He whispered tracing the delicate metal frame, there was an image of two boys inside. One with dark hair and a silly smile sitting in the lap of a larger, blonde boy hiding his smile in the others shoulder. It was the only photo he had of the two of them, the only one he could save. “I couldn’t even avenge you. I failed to give you peace.” A teardrop fell onto the glass.  
“Sebastian I love you.”

John and Sherlock found themselves in the side tunnel to the mirror in John’s dressing room. The fire hadn’t reached the foyer yet.

“Say you’ll share with me, one love, one lifetime.” He wanted this, wanted this song with Sherlock and the man was helpless against him.

“Say the word and I will follow you.”

“Share each day with me, each night each morning.”

Still below Moriarty could hear the echoes, his time was up. He held the photo to his chest before pulling the last item out of his drawer. He paused to wind up the organ, letting it play ‘Masquerade’ to an audience of one.  
“You alone can make my song take flight. It’s over now, the Music of the Night!”

John and Sherlock blanched when they heard the bang, turning they looked down the path back into the catacombs as if expecting to see Moriarty’s blood splattered across the wall. John stepped back into Sherlock’s arms his hand over his mouth like he was going to throw up. Sherlock silently led him out of the Opera House. 

Paris 1919

The carriage finally stopped at the cemetery and Sherlock stepped out, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the way to the grave he wanted well and knelt down placing the box at the marble base. John had died two years ago. The pair of them had lived together as odd flatmates, at least to those who did not know the truth. They did freelance work for the police and attended many Operas with Greg and Mycroft who eventually married as well. They had lived a good life and Sherlock looked forward to the day he would see his beloved again.


End file.
